


We're Both of Us Beneath Our Love

by SierraNovembr



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ballet, F/M, References to Depression, Tattoos, Traumatic Injury, buckynat mini bang 2017, partners in dance and life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraNovembr/pseuds/SierraNovembr
Summary: Many thought that the saga of James “Bucky” Barnes was over after his explosive exit from the dance scene five years ago.  Barnes electrified the community when he became the youngest principal dancer in the history of the American Ballet Theatre at the age of 19. After a shocking injury, he walked out of ABT, turning his back on the company that had nurtured him since he was a boy and giving a series of blistering interviews condemning the company’s treatment of their dancers.Natasha Romanov left her nest at Moscow’s Bolshoi Ballet at the start of a less controversial journey.  She has floated among companies as lightly as she floats though grand jetés on the stage.  Though recently she seems to have found a new home at the Royal Ballet, and at Barnes’ side.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Last month, I had the opportunity to see the Russian National Ballet Theatre perform Giselle. It was lovely, and I ended up with a lot of Ballerina!Nat feels. Just in time to sign up for the BuckyNat Week Mini Bang!
> 
> Huge thank you to my beta (who remains anonymous in fandom spaces) and to my artist, Pathulu ([see the piece here](https://pathulu.tumblr.com/post/158771108117/my-contribution-to-buckynat-week-for-this)). I love the stunning piece they created. This is my first fandom bang and it was a great experience! 
> 
> I didn’t want to clutter up the note up here, so please check out the end note for links to other sources of inspiration for this fic! Slightly spoilerly, but the visuals may help as you read. Enjoy!

 

  


[Art by Pathulu](https://pathulu.tumblr.com/post/158771108117/my-contribution-to-buckynat-week-for-this)

_Many thought that the saga of James “Bucky” Barnes was over after his explosive exit from the dance scene five years ago. Barnes electrified the community when he became the youngest principal dancer in the history of the American Ballet Theatre at the age of 19. After a shocking injury, he walked out of ABT, turning his back on the company that had nurtured him since he was a boy and giving a series of blistering interviews condemning the company’s treatment of their dancers._

_Natasha Romanov left her nest at Moscow’s Bolshoi Ballet at the start of a less controversial journey. She has floated among companies as lightly as she floats though grand jetés on the stage. Though recently she seems to have found a new home at the Royal Ballet, and at Barnes’ side._

Natasha sits with the magazine on the plush red couch in their living room. She likes to keep up with their press when she has the time. Her legs are curled up underneath her and she’s warm, all balled up in a large sweater. She should be icing her ankle, but she’s too comfortable to get up right now. She flexes her toes. Several of them crack.

_Barnes, who overcame a deep depression following his shoulder injury, says every moment was worth it to dance with Natasha._

She can see James in the kitchen, quick-stepping between two of the counters. He is wearing soft flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt that clings to his torso. He’s cutting chicken for dinner. She watches his hand guide the knife blade, his fingers on the handle. They are strong, confident, graceful.

_Now, after more than two years together, Romanov and Barnes have the most passionate partnership in ballet._

The familiar fire glows in her belly as her gaze wanders back up his body. Maybe it’s worth getting up after all.

“Gross libel,” she whispers with derision. They have the most passionate partnership _anywhere_.

***************

Not long after Natasha Romanov dances with James Barnes for the first time, she knows.

She waits backstage for the quiet to return. The theater slowly empties, the props get packed up, costume racks with creaky wheels get pushed by behind her where she is perched off-stage. There is noise everywhere, but that’s not what concerns her. She can feel Giselle still in her mind, waits for her to drain out into the night.

She was made for this: carefully crafted not just to perform, but to _be_ her characters. The long hours of training, the strict regimen, the pain. It all strips away Natasha and puts someone else in her place. Kitri, Odette, Giselle. She hasn’t filled different roles, she has led different lives.

She doesn’t notice him there at first. He slips in, quiet, close but not touching. He doesn’t try to ask if she’s okay. He doesn’t speak at all. She takes a steadying breath.

She’s seen his eyes when they are dancing. He’s learning to be James again now.

Natasha has heard the gossip, of course, that the love they display on-stage comes straight from their hearts. She’s not ready to say it yet, but she leans over just slightly, resting some of her weight on his shoulder, and smiles at him. It’s one of her smiles: small, it fits on her face again. His eyes are warm and they belong to him.

***************

They are tangled together on the bed. Natasha likes them to be as thoroughly entwined as possible when she gets a chance to be with James like this. Everything feels simultaneously slow and urgent and she can’t decide if she needs to float here forever or push them over the edge.

He tightens his grip on her hand where their fingers are laced together as she drags her leg between his. The bristly hair on his leg tickles her inner thigh and she presses against him more tightly to stop the sensation. His free hand travels along her bare skin, pausing at the small of her back before tracing its way back up to tangle in her hair. Her other hand is exploring his chest, fingers tripping over his ribs and palm brushing his older tattoos.

The hourglass tattooed on his left pec has healed nicely. Natasha runs her tongue along the side of this new addition and peppers kisses up to his neck. His breathing has gone deeper, and suddenly he turns so she is pressed beneath him. James leans down to kiss her, lingering and slow as his thumbs rub circles in the tender skin of her wrists.

***************

Natasha stops him as he heads out of the studio. Bucky lets her crowd him back against the wall. She settles in front of him, her weight forward, in his space. She is so lovely, even all sweaty from rehearsal, and Bucky has to remind himself not to get lost in her eyes.

“Everything is different with you.” She sounds awed and almost accusatory at the same time.

Bucky feels his pulse pick up. He knows, suddenly, that this is it, the moment they have been dancing around for weeks. Bucky doesn’t answer with words, yet, just slips his arm behind her back to take her weight more fully.

Natasha continues, “I go on stage with anyone else, James, and I am in control. I know what I am doing and where I’m going. With you – you flow, you move so naturally, I – I follow you.”

He tilts his head down and whispers to her, “You make it easy. I watch where you are going and I want to make sure that everything is perfect for you when you get there.”

She hardly breathes as his lips brush against the shell of her ear. He continues, “Before you, I was in my own world out there. I was focused on the performance, like a soldier on a solo mission. But caring for you gives me true purpose being there.”

Natasha turns her head to meet his eyes, running the tip of her nose over his jawline, “James.”

“I think you can see it. The way I look at you. I see the way you look at me.”

Bucky thinks he will never get used to the way she is looking at him now. He gives in, finally takes refuge in the kiss he has been imagining for so long. He lifts her closer and lets his eyes slide closed. Her lips are warm and firm. When he imagined this moment, he always thought it would feel like flying, giddy and excited. Instead, it feels like coming home, like finally mastering a lift, that moment when the exertion becomes inevitability and they are in perfect alignment.

***************

Falling in love with James is so much, it’s like trying to hold onto a hurricane with her bare hands. She can’t help the emotions that pour out of her when they dance, the desire she feels whenever she’s near to him. The audiences swell, crowds swarming in to see them, hungry for that glimpse of their souls that she and James cannot contain. Their profiles skyrocket in the dance world.

Tonight, it’s a short performance: a brief narrative of doomed lovers, just enough for them to tease their talents. James lifts her, his hand stretched out on her torso, supporting her upper body. She lets herself lean into it, her hips are anchored on his broad shoulder. Her muscles stretch to keep her head up, back arched. She sweeps her arms up and out, towards some unknown, unreachable future. His arm slips around her back, ready for the next eight count. He completes his turn and then she is falling for a brief moment before he sets her down en pointe and she is turning away, a fast series of pique turns burning the momentum down. He chases her across the stage.

Tonight, it doesn’t feel like there is a Juliet or Aurora to show them. This is just Natasha dancing with James. She wonders if this will consume them, if everyone will watch them burn.

***************

Bucky laughs as he hears the camera shutter click. “Really, Stevie? Gotta document me opening the door?”

Steve shushes him, and swings the camera around for a slightly different angle of Bucky’s hands on the door, muttering about composition. Bucky is used to this behavior; Steve is obscenely talented, but he is also obsessive and very partial to Bucky as a model. He patiently holds the pose until Steve emerges from behind the camera.

“Sorry, Buck, it’s just…your hands…”

Bucky snorts. “I know, I know, they are an appealing focus point and you can’t help it.” Bucky grins at his friend and finally finishes opening the door to the tattoo shop for his appointment. He’s been here several times for Steve’s ink, to hold Steve’s hand through the pain, but this will be the first time he’s having something done himself.

He’s starting to regret all the shit he gave Steve about drying his manly tears afterwards. Steve is definitely planning to get a little of his own back today, Bucky can tell by that hint of evil in his grin as they enter the shop.

Peggy is already setting up when they make it past the reception area. Steve bounds over to her and they exchange air kisses. Bucky’s feet pas de bourrée him across the room without conscious input from his brain.

“You know, I don’t usually get to do couples tattoos quite like this, darlings.” Peggy smiles at him and gestures for him to hop up in the chair.

Bucky wiggles his pants down a bit so she can access his hip and prep the skin. “Well, we ain’t exactly most couples.”

“What d’ya mean, Bucky, the part where only one of us is queer and it isn’t the one who wears tights every day? Or the part where even when you do wear ‘em it doesn’t do it for the one who is?”

Bucky rolls his eyes at Steve’s description. At least Peggy was a good friend and knew about Steve’s asexuality, because otherwise half the things Steve said didn’t make any sense.

“Or the part where you’re essentially my brother.”

Steve’s still babbling, “Or is it that one of us happens to be the American Ballet Theatre’s youngest principal soloist as of today?”

“Really?! Congratulations, Bucky!” Peggy cheers. “I wondered what occasion might have finally gotten you to take your turn here.”

The tattoo gun starts with a quiet whir and Bucky’s breath stalls out. Peggy pauses with a latex-gloved hand light on his hip. “Are you ready?”

Bucky swallows hard. He hadn’t thought he put off the tattoo out of fear. He just wasn’t ready to commit to a permanent mark before now. But it is fear that’s starting to seep into his stomach. Bucky momentarily considers calling the whole thing off, but then the familiar click of the camera sounds and he can feel the building tension melt away. Steve’s here. Steve who loves his own tattoos, who always finishes his sessions with a mile-wide grin beneath the tears. Bucky’s ready to know what that feels like.

Peggy notices Steve and has to fight off a fit of snickering. “Can’t imagine how anyone gets the wrong idea about you two. You just keep taking pictures of his groin there, Steve. I’m going to do my job if you don’t mind.”

When it’s done, Bucky feels like there are bubbles singing under his skin. He stares at the words on his hip, exactly like Steve’s but different somehow, from this new angle. Steve is badgering Peggy to take a photo of the two of them, pushing his camera towards her. He might as well be putting his beating heart in her hands, Bucky thinks. If he ever got amnesia that wiped out everything but his memory of Steve, that gesture alone would be enough to show him just how gone Steve is for their tattoo artist.

Steve and Bucky pose, pulling down their pants at the side to show off their quote. _**’til the end of the line**_ Bucky throws a saucy wink at Peggy. He knows without looking that Steve is matching the expression next to him.

They walk out of the shop into a beautiful New York day. Bucky’s hip is stinging, but it’s nothing compared to dancing with a fractured toe. Which he knows from unfortunate experience. He’s already planning what he wants Peggy to do next.

***************

“You’re bored. I can see it when you’re dancing out there.”

Natasha startles, just a little. An American man is shouting down the aisle to her. She’d been in her own world up on the stage, idly stretching into a side split and trying to relax after a difficult dress rehearsal. The rest of the corps and the stage crew know better than to interrupt her, but this stranger clearly wasn’t informed. She peers at him as he strolls past rows of seats. This dancer, she corrects in her mind. He is wearing an unconventionally purple leotard, and his walk is the familiar upright, gliding movement of those who live and breathe the art.

His words register then, and Natasha is instantly offended. “No, you can’t. I’m perfect out there.”

“Perfectly bored.”

Natasha glares down at him. “What do you want?”

He winks at her, “I’m scouting. And you’ve been waiting for it, don’t lie to yourself.”

He leaves a card on the stage beside her, just outside of her reach. She can read a name, Phil Coulson, the words Artistic Director, and a U.S. telephone number. She waits until he’s left before she slips the card into her bag.

It turns out that the hardest thing isn’t packing up her whole life and moving to New York; it’s suffering the knowing smirk Clint’s wearing the next time she sees him. As he walks into a bench, Natasha has a moment of panic that this is what she left home for.

Clint is like a small explosion in Natasha’s life, demolishing many of the barriers she has erected around herself. A cool, withdrawn demeanor backed up by the severe dancer’s bun she wore even on her off days had always enforced a distance from general acquaintances, while her stern avoidance of gossip dulled the camaraderie with her fellow ballerinas. Though her dedication to ballet remains as unshakable as ever, she now finds herself willing to let her hair down a little from time to time. Sometimes literally, as Clint will quick-finger the elastic out of her hair if he thinks she’s taking life too seriously.

Natasha settles into a routine at ABT. The greater artistic freedom unlocks a new well of potential in her, and she knows her dancing has never been better. Her relationships with many of her fellow dancers quickly move from the realm of friendly competition to genuine friendships. She regularly serves as backup on Sharon Carter’s commando missions to find the best coffee in the city. Bobbi Morse is a serious dancer who works almost as hard as Natasha herself, but who always has a smile and a kind word for Nat. Jan Van Dyne is…excitable, Natasha decides. Jan makes sure that Natasha is invited to a slew of galas, dinners, and parties, and that she feels genuinely welcome at these events. She appreciates all her developing friendships here in New York, but it’s Clint she cuddles on the couch when they get together at Jan’s to watch terrible movies. It’s Clint she teaches Russian so he can fully appreciate her puns.

She’d never imagined anyone like Clint before. In her experience, dancers are creatures of the strictest discipline, something Clint only displays in extreme circumstances. Even during performances, his movements border on exuberant and sloppy until other dancers are counting on him. He is always exactly where she needs him for a lift or pas de deux. Offstage, he’s a human disaster, collecting bruises and minor injuries through a lack of coordination that should be impossible for someone who controls his body as his profession.

The day she is comfortable enough to tease him over it, he whoops like he won the lottery and then buys her the an ice cream sundae roughly the size of a small mountain.

Sugar-high and giddy, they choreograph a piece out on the sidewalk in front of the ice cream parlor. Their characters are two spies and long-time partners. The dance mostly involves chasing each other among the parked cars and a string of pantomimed jokes about who was to blame for a mission in Budapest gone horribly and comically wrong. Clint doesn’t seem to notice that he has skinned his knee twice now. Natasha has never laughed so much in her life.

***************

It’s inane, but when Bucky talks about the accident later, to his family, to his therapist, all he can say is that it happened so fast.

Bucky’s leaning out on the ledge, lining up a good shot for Steve. Steve’s been into heights lately, putting together an entire gallery show centered around getting as far from the ground as possible. They’ve been climbing every free weekend this season, and Bucky is reveling in the freedom, the chance to spend time with his best friend, the unique exercise. It certainly beats the time Steve did the series where every single portrait had to include live insects on the subject.

One moment, he is leaning out, hamming for the camera. The next second, part of the ledge gave way. It feels like he hangs there, for the barest instant. He is somehow looking right at Steve, watches his eyes widen.

Bucky screams as he falls. Steve is screaming, too, reaching out towards him, but Bucky is far beyond his reach now. He hits the ground sooner than he expected, it’s not enough to knock him out. His momentum carries him further downhill, scree and dust kicking up around him. He can’t breathe, he can’t stop, he is utterly helpless in the grip of gravity as he freefalls off another ledge. A few heartbeats later he hits the tree-line. Crashing into the trees, he feels something hit and lodge in his shoulder. He can barely register what is happening, but at that moment he feels a profound sense of _wrong_ flash through his body. Branches are snapping all around him, and it’s loud, it’s so loud, but he is finally slowing down. He tumbles into a small, dry ditch. The lack of movement, of sound, is so sudden he wonders if he’s died. Then, the pain slams into him. Bucky tries to scream, choking through the agony. He can’t get any air, and when he tries to look at his left shoulder, the sight of the branch embedded in the bleeding mess that used to be his arm is enough to make him black out for a moment.

Bucky comes to, still alone, still unable to move without searing pain. He tries to control his breathing, count, pray, keep the swirling panic at bay. He can see the opposite ridgeline from where he is lying, the mountains tall and unforgiving. He makes himself stare, count the peaks.

Later, Bucky’s panic-worn brain will interpret the snapping tree branches and the impacts on his body as getting shot. Despite never touching a bullet in his life, Bucky will dream of gunshots every night. When he goes to support group, he will connect best with the veterans: men who flinch at loud noises, women who have lost limbs.

Later still, he will learn to shoot as part of taking ownership of his trauma and discover he is a decent marksman. He will ink a sniper sight onto his wrist.

That will come later. Before that, he will have a huge blow-out argument with his physical therapist and quit dance. He will spiral downward, his life directionless and out of control, and end up with this very scene tattooed on his ribs. It will feel, in a way, like he can never make it off this mountain.

Before any of that, Steve will make it down the path to him, stop the bleeding, and shout down a couple of passing hikers. They will get the rescue crew to Bucky. Bucky will be airlifted out and spend six hours in surgery. He will survive this.

Until then, Bucky tries to breathe and count the peaks as the waves of pain wash over him.

***************

Clint finds her just as Tony Stark is leaving. There’s a brief shuffle as they try to get through the door at the same time. Tony finally huffs and grabs Clint’s arms, maneuvering him into the practice room and slipping out while Clint sputters. Natasha laughs at the shocked look on her friend’s face.

“Was that – “ He stops, pokes his head back out into the hallway, but it’s a short hallway and Tony’s already gone.

“Tasha.”

“Yes, Clint?”

“Did I just get manhandled by a billionaire?”

“Yes, Clint.”

The bemused look on his face is enough to send her into another fit of laughter.

“Okay.” Clint finally shrugs off his surprise. “Mind telling me what Tony Stark, genius designer and filmmaker, was doing here?”

Natasha smirks at him and beckons him over. “See for yourself.” Clint lifts the lid off the long, shallow box when she indicates it to him. Nestled inside are a pair of pointe shoes, ribbons curled in a loose pile. Natasha plucks one up from the box so Clint can see the twelve-inch chef’s knife affixed to the shoe, such that the flat of the shoe is along the bottom of the handle and the toe is at the bolster. The knife curves away under the shoe, looking decidedly dangerous.

“Whaaaaaat the fuck.” Clint frowns at her.

Natasha frowns back, “Seems fairly self-explanatory, doesn’t it?” She drops to the ground and starts lacing up one of the shoes.

“Knife-pointe shoes. I repeat: What the fuck.” Clint grumbles, and picks up the other shoe. He crouches down and puts his hands over hers, stilling them. “I’m not going to stop you, but give me a day, please?” It’s his serious voice, the one that gets so little use that Natasha does as he asks without any further argument. She carefully packages up the shoes and they make plans to meet the next morning.

The address he sends her turns out to be a gymnastics gym. He’s got a wooden platform set up under the spotting belt. Natasha nods her head, impressed. They get her strapped into the belt and laced into the shoes, and then Clint supports her, keeps her from falling as she learns the mechanics of balancing on a literal knife’s edge. It’s exhilarating. She badgers Clint and they spend every moment they can squeeze out of their practice schedules working on this terrifying new skill.

When Tony shows up to film her, she has gained an impressive level of control on the things. She’ll never truly dance on them, that’s not possible, but the practice has strengthened muscles she wasn’t using well before, and she has become confident on them.

Turns out, Tony Stark didn’t want someone quite so confident.

“What do you mean, you can’t use her?” Clint shouts at Tony, face red with fury.

Tony, still trying to pick his jaw up off the floor after seeing Natasha’s performance on the knife shoes, squares his shoulders and meets Clint’s angry gaze. “I can’t use her! The piece is supposed to represent how unnatural and unsettling what we ask ballet dancers to do really is. She makes it look _natural_ to be up there. It’s not going to work at all!”

Natasha can see how that would be a problem, and she’s not willing to pretend not to be in control on top of foot-long knives. She reaches out and grabs Clint’s arm, tugging him away from where he is looming into Tony’s space. “Stop. Clint, it’s fine. I will survive not being in a Tony Stark production.”

Clint is grumpy for a few days, and furious when the video comes out with Bobbi on the shoes instead, but Natasha reminds him that no one got hurt and they eventually put it behind them. It was an interesting experience, but she’s not going to waste any more energy on a stunt when she has dress rehearsals for her actual job to gear up for.

***************

Bucky used to count the days since the last time that he danced. He can still remember the rage on Dr. Banner’s face when Bucky told him that he was giving up, leaving the company; there would be no more forcing himself to heal on their timeline. Bucky thinks they were both shouting by the end, his own frustration at his uselessness spewing at the physical therapist, but he can’t quite remember. Everything from after the accident feels like it happened to someone else. Or maybe it’s everything before the accident. Bucky can’t quite tell.

He doesn’t count the days anymore. He’s lucky if he knows what month it is.

The sudden loud pounding on his bedroom door startles Bucky out of a doze. “What the hell, Steve?!”

“Are you wearing pants?” his friend shouts back.

Bucky feels mildly insulted until he realizes that he is not, in fact, wearing pants. Sullen, he finds a reasonably clean pair and tugs them on, hissing in pain when his fingers ache as he does up the fly. He grimaces down at the still-healing tattoo, the skull and tentacles on his hand making him vaguely nauseous. Then again, it could also be that he forgot to eat again. He tells himself that his hand would be hurting anyway, even if he hadn’t gotten that mistake of a tattoo. It hadn’t ever stopped since the accident and the surgery that repaired his shoulder. Sometimes he finds himself wishing that they hadn’t been able to save it at all, but he tries not to let his mind wander those paths often.

Steve barges his way into the room, clicking his tongue ring on his teeth in his version of disapproval. “You can’t wear those pants, we’re going to the theater.”

Shit. He’d forgotten about Clint’s performance. It was opening night and Clint was dancing Basilio in Don Quixote and he… Shit. He owes this to Clint. Clint had stayed his friend, with all the attendant goofing off and deep conversations that happened at drunk o-clock in the morning, despite the hell Bucky must have been over the past few months. Bucky lets Steve undo the jeans for him, observant bastard always knew when his hand was hurting, and cooperates when Steve throws a pair of slacks on the bed.

They make it to the theater on time, and Steve kindly doesn’t comment on the murderous glare Bucky can feel on his own face. He has successfully avoided anything to do with ballet for months. Even Clint knows enough to avoid bringing it up most of the time. Sitting in the audience, feeling the rising anticipation of the people around him is almost intolerable. The curtain goes up and he sneers at the dancers on the stage. Don’t they know that they are only a slight step away from pain and ruin, that this life could be taken from them in an instant?

Then, his mind goes quiet as she chassés onto the stage. The woman dancing Kitri isn’t someone he remembers at ABT. He wants to check the program he’d deliberately ignored before to find out who she is, but he can’t tear his eyes away from her. Her hair is a strikingly beautiful shade of red and her face is lovely, and the way she’s moving is so perfect it feels like someone has reached into his chest and _squeezed_. She is absolute control up there, each step is precise, her turns look effortless and she jumps so lightly she might as well be weightless.

He checks the program at intermission. Her name is Natasha Romanov and she has recently moved to ABT from the Bolshoi ballet. He gushes to Steve about her, barely able to contain himself when the curtain rises for the next act. He pretends he doesn’t notice when his enthusiasm makes Steve tear up.

By the time Clint and Natasha have their final pas de deux, Bucky would cut his own heart out and serve it to her on a platter if he could dance with her, she’s _exquisite_. It feels like he is finally thawing after being frozen for so long. He _wants_ , so badly, to dance. He can feel the muscles in his legs tensing each time he watches one of them jump, his hands flex when Clint does a lift. Steve leans over to grab Bucky’s hand, the one that still hurts every time he uses it, and gently cradles it between his own. Bucky’s eyes are wide with shock when he meets Steve’s.

“I want to go back,” he whispers his revelation, so quiet he’s not sure Steve will be able to hear. He licks his lips, tries again, still quiet but with so much conviction, “I want to go back.”

***************

“You’re bored. I can see it in your dancing out there.”

Natasha leans further over her leg where it is propped up on the barre. She doesn’t bother coming out of the stretch to throw Clint a self-assured look and give back, “No, you can’t. I’m perfect out there.”

He doesn’t finish the exchange, just drops his head and chews his lip a little.

That brings Natasha out of her pose. She pads over to him and ducks down to meet his eyes. “Clint?”

“I’m going to miss you.”

Her heart clenches. She is going to miss him, too. She just can’t quell the feeling that she can be even more. She’s grown so much, especially in her expression, but she knows she can be stronger. She’s not ready to stop chasing perfection, not even for the closest friendship she has ever known. She wraps her arms around him and he returns the hug. He rests his cheek on her hair and whispers, “Where are you going?”

“Home. Well, St. Petersburg, anyway. For a little while.”

“Mikhailovsky,” he sighs. “You’d better stock up on the good vodka for when I visit you in that frozen hellscape.”

Natasha snorts. “Like you’d know the difference.”

Clint sniffs a little and tightens his hold on her. They don’t let go for a long time.

***************

Steve’s being weird. Bucky picked him up at the airport a couple of hours ago and brought him back to the little cubical apartment he’s renting while he’s in San Francisco getting back into performance shape. Steve barely picks at the sandwiches Bucky makes them, and shoots Bucky worried looks the whole time.

Finally, Bucky snaps. “What the hell, Steve?”

The little furrow on Steve’s brow, the one that means _worried serious scared_ makes an appearance. Bucky slowly puts down the sandwich.

“Natasha moved back to Russia,” Steve blurts in a rush.

“Okay?” Bucky doesn’t understand what Steve is getting at. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, it’s just…” Steve grimaces, “She won’t be there when you get back.”

“You know, it’s almost like you expect me to fall apart at this news.”

Steve slams his sandwich down on his plate, quick temper making his face flush. “Bucky, you didn’t see yourself after we watched her dance with Clint. It was…she was like the key, the key to _you_.” He gestures emphatically at Bucky, almost smacks him in the face across the tiny table; it’s really not a big apartment. “It was like a switch had been flipped. When you came back from that slump, it was like you knew how to be a human being again.”

“I didn’t forget how to be a human being, Steve. I was just finally willing to try. And it took lots and lots of therapy. You remember all the therapy? With Sam?”

“But…”

“No, Steve. It’s…disappointing, I’ll admit. I did dream about being able to dance with her.” Bucky feels himself smile, wistful, she had been so lovely.

“That’s not all you were dreaming about.”

“Dammit, Stevie! Clint’s stories and the way she dances, that’s what my _crush_ was built on. My recovery was built on me.”

Steve sighs. “And therapy with the hot psychiatrist.”

“And therapy with the hot psychiatrist who doesn’t want to pose for you, stop hinting.”

Steve sticks out his tongue, like the mature adult he is, before tackling Bucky in a huge hug, awkwardly leaning across the scattered remains of their lunch. “I missed you so much, you fucking jerk.”

Bucky hugs Steve in turn, tight, letting his friend feel the strength in his arms. He worked so hard to get that strength back. “I missed you too, punk.”

Later, when they are settling in for a movie on the lumpy couch, Steve brings it up again, “When are you coming back, Buck?”

Just like that, Bucky’s run out of excuses to keep his own news to himself. “I’m not, Steve. I can’t go back to New York.”

Steve doesn’t look surprised, but his jaw tenses in the way that means he’s going to argue with the world until it starts behaving. “Yes, you can! I know you’re getting stronger every day, soon you’re going to be an even better dancer than you were before you fell.”

“I know,” Bucky soothes. Steve isn’t wrong. Once he got over his mental block about the arm, the recovery wasn’t too far out of his reach. He just hadn’t been willing to reach before. Bucky was still deeply talented, and once he was dancing again, the injury wasn’t impossible to overcome. Physical therapy, once he was properly motivated to go, made all the difference. Further, coming back from such an absence forced Bucky to work on his technique more diligently than when he’d first learned. He was already a better dancer than he’d been before, and he had an invitation to audition for the Royal Ballet in London to prove it.

Getting to break that news to his best friend, after the storm and the guilt nearly swallowed them up, is one of the best moments of Bucky’s life.

***************

It is completely eclipsed by the moment Natasha walks through the door to the rehearsal room in London and meets his eyes for the first time.

***************

Natasha loves London. She loves their flat and she loves the Thai takeaway place down the block. She loves the coffee and the tea and that she isn’t expected to somehow prefer one over the other.

She loves James.

He slots into her life with a surety she is still dazzled by. He is strong, so much so that her heart seems to beat _this is right, this is right_ when she is in his arms, spun through the air. She trusts him, in any situation she feels like she can rely on him.

As a man, he is gentle and kind. As a dancer, he is probably the most talented person she knows. Sometimes, that can be a problem, when choreography is intuitive to him, and he doesn’t need to focus the way she does. Natasha knows her focus is her greatest strength, and that she works hard to achieve her success.

In the studio, they are working together on a contemporary program. Their instinctual synergy is fully evident today, arms and steps synchronized, spots identical as they turn. The petit allegro is a blaze. But it’s Natasha driving the rehearsal, working obsessively to shape her classically trained muscles to the new demands. James stretches out, relaxed, when he’s not throwing out an elegant tour jeté. He loves the poses they strike, flicking his hair or tapping his heel down. Natasha knows, intellectually, that this is a fun piece, full of snide little shimmies that are going to make Clint grin when he sees them, but she’s having trouble letting go of her need to be perfect. Perfection is a measurable quantity in classical pieces, she knows how to pour focus and intensity in and get _perfect_ out, but it’s not so straightforward here.

Even at home, when James is lying on the floor, audiobook going in his earbuds, she is studying the choreographer’s completed pieces on youtube or drilling a step. She tries to smother the little curl of resentment, but it takes James’ gentle hands rubbing her back, his little nips where her shoulder meets her neck, the praise he whispers into her ear. The way they move together, here in the quiet darkness, perfect timing and humid breaths, is just as instinctual as dancing. Their own kind of perfection.

She loves James, but it’s dance she cannot live without. She prays with all her heart she will never have to choose between them.

***************

Whatever the hotel room lacks in imagination, at least it has decent blackout curtains. The night is dark around them. James is dead to the world beside Natasha, his head thrown back and his breathing deep.

The beige comforter is wrapped up around Natasha’s shoulders and she’s still a little cold. She burrows closer to James, tucking her cold toes in the warmth around his legs and burying one hand under his back. The other roams over his sleeping face, feeling the prickle of his stubble, the softness of his hair.

The heater shudders to life with a muffled thunk. Natasha shifts, restless despite the exhaustion. The tour schedule is brutal, as always, and she hates sleeping in new places, even with James beside her. Especially with James beside her if he is going to pass out so simply and leave her here alone like this. She presses kisses into his cheek, his jaw, down his neck and growls at him for being so infuriating.

He catches her roaming hand and brings it to his mouth for a lingering kiss. “Sleep, sweetheart.” He murmurs.

“I can’t,” she replies, petulant.

He presses another kiss to her fingers and then rolls over, pressing her down into the mattress. Natasha is instantly warmer. She feels safer, like this, surrounded by him. She pecks the side of his head in thanks and resolves to try again to sleep, for his sake.

“I love you,” he hums in the quiet space between them.

“I love you, too.”

***************

Bucky’s life hasn’t been easy on his body or his mind. He paints the chaos onto his skin. He is so far removed from when he sat in Peggy’s chair and almost backed out of his first tattoo. Now, Steve’s quote has been joined by a painted litany of pain and the sharp bite of hope.

There’s a sniper’s sight on his right wrist. A cold, lonely mountain ravine splashed along his ribs, a tiny broken figure lying at the bottom.

A skull sits on the back of his left hand, with tentacles winding down his fingers. They are intricate, so detailed that they could start writhing off his flesh. It was by far the most painful piece. Bucky barely remembers why he thought it was a good idea, carried along by the tattoo artist’s enthusiasm. He went by Pierce and Bucky wasn’t sure if it was his real name. Seemed a little on the nose. He’d done Bucky’s shoulder, which had turned out haunting and gorgeous, so Bucky let him run wild, but he’d never go back again after those horrible hand sessions. He’d been spiraling, actively seeking out pain, but Pierce’s obvious pleasure in it had been too much even for him.

The arm is a masterpiece, and Bucky loves it and loathes it in equal measure. The rough scarring from the injury and the neater surgical scars are both incorporated into what looks like metal plates, hugging his shoulder and bicep. The overall effect is a hard, shining cyborg arm and it helps, because Bucky felt like a machine for a long time after the accident so others might as well see him that way too.

When he’s ready, finally, for his last tattoo, there was only one choice. They book a flight to New York. Peggy cries, and hugs him, and cries a little more and hugs Natasha as well. Natasha holds his hand while Peggy inks in the simple hourglass shape, right over his heart. It is red, the exact shade of her hair, and it is entirely filled in, eternal. His love for her will never run out.

***************

Steve sits in the plush theatre seat and runs his fingers over the program cover. _Giselle_. The first page is a note from the theatre manager, then a short summary of the ballet’s plot, which he skims. He remembers this one, a peasant girl dies of a broken heart after she finds out that her lover is betrothed to another in the first act and then returns as a cursed spirit, one of the Willis who dance men to their deaths in the second. He feels an electric sort of anticipation zip through him when he reads Bucky’s name. He had almost given up hope that he would ever get to see that again.

The soft conversations around him slowly fade as the lights go down and the announcer calls the performers. The first act is delightful. Bucky is in fine form, strutting as Albrecht, his leaps and jumps stunning and powerful. Natasha’s Giselle is sweetly shy and his earnest pursuit of her is charming. Steve can’t keep the smile off his face, and his hands twitch constantly for the camera he wasn’t allowed to bring.

When Albrecht’s secret is revealed and Giselle is driven to madness, something explodes inside Natasha. She dances as if there is a wild thing inside her desperate to get out. Her bright red hair, released from its confining braids, looks almost profane in its dishevelment. Her death is sharp and the sudden silence from the orchestra is jarring. Steve gasps a breath, unaware that he’d been holding it.

The intermission is ponderously long. He spends it picking apart the cast photos in the program, counting the minutes until the bell and lights finally call the audience back. The curtain rises and Steve feels his heartbeat pick up as the Queen of the Willis calls Giselle forth from her grave. The spirits are haunting in their long skirts and synchronized movements. When Natasha enters, she is so pale in the spotlights that he could believe she was truly dead. Then Bucky is there, and the ballet, already grown melancholic, becomes truly poignant.

Natasha leans back against Bucky, her cheek barely brushing his as her head gently curls into his neck. Steve feels his breath catch in his throat again, doesn’t release it until several counts later, after Bucky has lifted her in a perfect arch above his head. The movement is so effortless, she really could be a spirit, a ghost held in place only by her love for him. They separate, but are drawn back together helplessly, bow their heads towards one another. Every time he reaches for her, his hands look gentle, tender, even though Steve knows they are solid, they must be as he supports her through a gorgeous développé, her leg held high and straight above her head.

As the dance draws to its close, Steve realizes he is crying. He watches Giselle slip away from Albrecht, fluttering away between one moment and the next. The agony on Bucky’s face as he picks up a flower from her grave is visceral. Steve can barely look at his friend then. He can’t do much of anything except be blindingly grateful to Natasha Romanov, and to Clint for bringing her into their lives, and to the Royal Ballet for putting them on stage together at last.

Steve’s the first one on his feet as the ovation explodes in the theatre. They all know they just saw something incredible.

***************

_No interview with Barnes is complete without touching on his hiatus and depression, but he rarely shares detail about that time. He says only that it felt like being frozen while the world went on without him. Now, with Romanov by his side, he has rejoined the dance world and their searing performances may be the furthest thing from frozen that ballet has ever seen._

**Author's Note:**

> Sources of inspiration:  
> Bucky as a dancer (tattoos included) was inspired by Sergei Polunin. Gravity works differently for him: [video here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-tW0CkvdDI)  
> Tony's knife shoes are a thing in the world: [video here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4nB7CQRni50)  
> Bucky and Nat's contemporary piece is based on this set by Natalia Osipova (and Sergei Polunin): [video here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7Ik8wm8zo0)
> 
> The title is a line from Leonard Cohen’s Dance Me to the End of Love
> 
> The two ballets Nat performs: [Giselle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giselle) and [Don Quixote](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Quixote_\(ballet\))


End file.
